


Reprisal

by draculard



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Bottom Frank Gallagher, Father/Son Incest, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Physical Abuse, Revenge Sex, Sexual Abuse, Top Lip Gallagher, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 08:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20112136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: Frank's not top dog anymore.





	Reprisal

It’s just a hug. A pair of strong, muscle-corded arms wrap around Frank’s middle from behind as he’s trying to leave the house, and it really shouldn’t make him jump because he knows exactly who’s holding him back — he and Lip are the only people left in the house.

The only issue is that Lip doesn’t hug. He hasn’t hugged Frank since he was seven years old. 

So what is he doing?

* * *

He can feel how thin Frank is beneath his old denim jacket; his waist is small, his ribs too easy to count. He’s not just old and weak compared to Lip; he’s fragile.

And he has no goddamn clue what’s going on.

Lip doesn’t bother to inform him. He lowers his lips to Frank’s neck, nosing aside the over-long hair to kiss him, and when he does that, Frank goes entirely still.

“Lip?” he says, and Lip can hear by the ever-so-slight shake in his voice that Frank genuinely thinks — hopes — that it’s not his son holding him in place. 

“It’s me,” Lip says, breath warm on Frank’s neck. He feels Frank flinch in his grasp. 

“Well, no offense,” says Frank, voice unsteady, “but what the fuck are you—”

That’s when Lip’s teeth come out, biting down hard, and Frank’s words are lost to an outraged cry of pain. He jerks, tries to get away, but Lip holds him fast. 

Frank walks all over this family like he’s still top dog — like he’s the lone adult towering over a horde of malnourished kids, all of them small for their age, none of them strong enough to stop him from leaving, to fight back. 

He’s forgotten he’s an old man now. He’s forgotten that Lip is seventeen and stronger than him, that Ian could hurt him however he pleases, that Carl is swiftly catching up. 

He’s forgotten that he can’t fight back.

Lip’s hands hover over Frank’s waist, relishing for a moment how small he is, then move back to cinch his wrists together, tying them tightly with a long piece of cord. Frank is tense, but compliant; he doesn’t believe this is really happening, or he thinks it’s a mostly-harmless trick — Lip stealing his bar money, maybe. Something he can talk his way out of. 

But then he feels Lip’s hand snaking down the front of his pants, and he surely knows — he _ must _ know — that this is different.

“Lip,” he breathes. He’s afraid, confused. Lip can hear it in his voice, in how quietly he says his son’s name. Frank is never quiet. With his hand beneath Frank’s jeans and over his boxers, Lip can feel the outline of the other man’s cock. He strokes it with his thumb and Frank flinches, involuntarily leaning back against his son’s chest. Lip puts his free hand on Frank’s chest and holds him there, refusing to let him move away. 

“Listen,” Frank says. He’s trying to sound calm. “There’s a gram of coke in my left pocket. Just take what you want. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Lip doesn’t want a gram of coke. He squeezes Frank’s cock over his boxers, squeezes it as hard as he can, his fist an iron grip — he waits until Frank is writhing against him, hips bucking in a futile attempt to get away, face screwed up in silent pain. 

Then, before Frank can collect himself, Lip lets go and pushes his father to the floor.

With his hands tied behind his back, Frank has no way to catch himself. He falls face-first, nose smashing against the floorboards with an audible crunch, and the only sound he makes is a blood-choked grunt of surprise. Then Lip is crouching beside him, one knee on the floor and one stabbing into the small of Frank’s back, pinning two of his fingers to his spine. 

Frank opens his mouth to speak, to ask questions. He spits out blood and mucus instead. With quick, economical movements, Lip reaches underneath Frank and unbuttons his jeans, sliding them roughly down his hips. He hooks a finger in the waistband of Frank’s boxers and pulls them down an inch, so that they hang just below Frank’s hip bones. 

He runs a hand down Frank’s inner thigh, his touch light and teasing. Beneath him, Frank goes utterly still.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” Lip says, his voice measured, “the same way you’ve been fucking us over our entire lives.”

The other kids don’t know what he’s doing, of course. He has a feeling most of them won’t care if they ever find out. Frank doesn’t move; Lip’s words seem to have frozen him in place.

Lip gives him a moment to absorb the situation, to process his immediate future and come to terms with it. Then he drags Frank’s boxers down his thighs and rolls him over onto his back so roughly that Frank’s elbows bang against the floor. 

Frank stares up at him, eyes hooded and glazed with fear. Blood coats his nose and mouth; his bottom lip looks like it split in the fall. His t-shirt has ridden up to his navel, leaving him exposed and nude from that point down.

His cock is limp and small. Lip remembers seeing it once when he was just a kid, when he walked in on Frank and Monica in the bedroom — he remembers thinking in awe about how much bigger than him Frank was. All that has changed now; Lip is taller than Frank, stronger and fitter, and his cock is swollen, straining at the front of his jeans. It looks like he’s got a good three inches on Frank, even when he’s soft.

He lays his hand flat on Frank’s stomach, the tips of his fingers disappearing under Frank’s shirt. He can feel the other man’s chest heaving as he takes shallow, silent breaths. 

“You’re not drunk, are you?” Lip asks, sliding his hand up further, circling Frank’s nipple. He pinches it sharply, applying more and more pressure until Frank grits his teeth and bites back a whimper. “I want you to be fully present for this.”

Frank doesn’t answer. Lip’s nails are cut short, but he angles his thumb just-so, so that what remains of his nail slices into Frank’s nipple. 

Minutely, Frank shakes his head. Not drunk. Not high.

Completely sober. 

That’s good, Lip muses. He’ll remember this.

He lets Frank’s nipple go and trails his hands back down to the bare hips beneath him. He doesn’t miss the water leaking from Frank’s eyes, trickling into his hair. His hands close on Frank’s thighs, holding them tightly enough to bruise.

“Lip,” Frank says, and his voice is little more than a rasp now.

Lip meets his eyes — Frank’s watery, his own cool and calm. Both of them the same shade of blue. 

“Please,” Frank says. His chin trembles; he takes a breath and bites his lip, teeth cutting down right on the tender split where his face met the floor. He opens his mouth, tries to say something else.

It never comes. Lip unbuttons his own jeans and pumps his cock, fully erect. He spits in his palms and coats himself with it, the bare minimum of lube required for his own pleasure.

He spreads Frank’s legs, relishing the choked-off cry Frank tries to swallow down.

He lines himself up. 

He pushes in.

* * *

When Fiona comes home, she finds Frank lying on the couch with his nose broken and his lip split from some fight at the bar, with the sour smell of spilt alcohol clinging to him, with his jeans unzipped and soaked with piss. She thinks he’s unconscious at first, and she’s leaning over the back of the couch to stare at him, her lip curled in disgust, when he opens his eyes and looks back at her.

His gaze wavers. Hers does, too. His eyes are wet, red slits.

What she says is: “_Jesus,_ Frank. Lay off the liquor.” In the armchair nearby, Lip snorts, too absorbed in the game on TV to glance their way. 

Frank says nothing. He watches her until she walks away, eyes following her out of the living room, filled with something painful and accusatory and pleading.

But he says nothing, and Fiona walks away.


End file.
